The Point of No Return
by Harmony'sLoveHP
Summary: Insane as he was, he was misunderstood. It was because of the deformation on the side of his face that he thought of himself as some kind of beast, but she didn't agree. His deformation that he tried to cover with that mask was what made him unique, one of a kind. There would be no other Phantom but him. The Phantom and Christine


Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters.

The Point of No Return

He was a misunderstood person, Christine thought as she watched him. Insane as he was, he was misunderstood. It was because of the deformation on the side of his face that he thought of himself as some kind of beast, but she didn't agree. His deformation that he tried to cover with that mask was what made him unique, one of a kind. There would be no other Phantom but him.

Raoul was a nice guy, but he was also a childhood friend. It was those types of relationships that never seemed to pan out. However, being around the Phantom, she felt a sort of thrill, a fullness that she had never felt before. It was him who had taught her how to sing, how to become the wonderful performer that she was even whenever she did not know his identity.

Yes, he was a misunderstood person. Everyone feared him because he had tried to get her the recognition that she had deserved. She didn't approve of his techniques, though, and she made it quite clear. Those two innocent—sometimes annoying—people had not needed to die. There would have been other ways for him to have gotten what he wanted, but he was not a very patient man.

Christine watched him as he sat at his organ where he was scribbling away on a piece of paper before his fingers would dance across the keys, trying out the new piece he had written. Soon, the Phantom would grow bored and they would begin her singing lessons again, but she savored the moment by just watched him and taking him in—deformations and everything.

"Will you stop staring at me?" the Phantom asked finally. He lifted his eyes up to meet hers. "You're making me uncomfortable."

"You? The Phantom of the Opera? Uncomfortable?" Christine asked, a small smile playing on her lips. "I never thought I'd hear those words escape from your lips."

"Now you have," the Phantom replied to her. She stood and walked over to him and peered over his shoulder at the music in front of him. He quickly picked it up and sat on it, giving her a look. "It's not finished yet; not ready for you to see it yet." She pressed her lips together slightly before she gave a short nod.

"Alright, fine," she said. He moved over so she could sit down next to him and his fingers went onto the keys, playing a few before he started into a song. She wasn't familiar with the song, but she listened silently anyways. Closing her eyes, she allowed for the music to wash over her as she rested her head against his shoulder lightly, not disrupting him as he played.

Christine's mind wondered as he played to when she had pulled the mask off his face, revealing him to her fully. She hadn't been entirely disgusted by it, rather than intrigued. It wasn't as though she hadn't had a hunch that something was behind it, rather than him just trying to hide himself from her. He had been, but for a completely different reason.

The organ grew silent, drawing Christine's attention back to the Phantom. He was looking at her intently, studying her. It took her a moment before she realized that he was trying to memorize her, savor that very moment. People were looking for her back in the world that didn't involve him and they both knew that she would be found soon enough.

She ran her lips over his softly before she stood. "I don't want to leave here."

"You don't have to," the Phantom replied, watching her move around the room with his eyes. She wrapped her arms around her waist and turned to look at him.

"They'll find me, you realize."

"Indeed I do." His eyes remained trained on hers before she bit her lip and looked away. "Christine—"

"Raoul won't give up until I'm found," she stated as she cut him off. Something flashed across his face when she mentioned Raoul, but she kept speaking. "When they do find me, can you imagine what they're going to do to you? Is it worth it?"

"Of course it's worth it," the Phantom assured her. "I'll be fine, though, so you shan't worry about me."

"But I do worry about you!" Christine exasperatedly exclaimed. "I've always worried about you from your sanity to your safety, everything about you makes me worry!" The Phantom was looking at her with a wounded look on his face, causing her to instantly feel bad about what she'd said. It was all true, though, but she knew he could not help it, it was just who he was.

"I am not someone who needs to be worried about," the Phantom said in a soft voice. "As you can already tell, I can hold my own ground quite well." She stared at him, thinking about everything that last statement meant. The chandelier, the dead men, she knew quite well what he could do.

"You're my angel of music," she told him softly, dropping her arms to her side. "I cannot bear to lose you, you realize."

The Phantom nodded slightly and stood, moving towards her. "I know." She fell into his arms, resting her head on his chest, and listening to his heart beat.

"We should leave this place; we could do it, you know," Christine murmured. "We could leave and go somewhere no one would find us."

"I'm not leaving my theatre," the Phantom said in a cold voice. She felt the blood drain from her face. She had known that he would say that. "I do not care what it costs me, but I am not leaving my theatre for some . . . some dimwit to run."

"Not even for me?" She looked up at him, the question hanging in the air between them. Christine reached up and cupped his deformed face in her hand. "Please."

He turned away from her, pacing across the floor like a caged animal. "I can't." Christine closed her eyes for a brief moment and looked away, staring at the wall. She had known that would have been his answer.

"I need to tell them something," she said decisively. "I need to tell them that I'm not dead, that I haven't disappeared. They'll stop looking for me then, if they know I'm safe." The Phantom spun around on his heel and faced her.

"They will never stop looking for you," he growled. She stared at him with wide eyes. "That's what happens when you become too attached to someone."

"Would you?" she asked. He looked at her with a blank expression. "Would you never stop looking for me if I disappeared?"

"That's not the same."

"Yes it is, answer the question. Would you ever stop looking for me? Are you that attached to me?" He ran a hand through his hair before he walked over to his organ and sat down.

"No, I would not," he said finally and then began to play, the loud sounds from the instrument filling the room and making it impossible to talk to each other.

She sighed and walked over to the bed, staring at the monkey and its symbols. Such a silly toy, she thought, but for some reason it meant something to him, so she remained quiet about it. The Phantom continued to play his organ, a dark look on his face. She was afraid of what was going to happen if he didn't get out of his mood soon.

It was nearly an hour before the Phantom played his last few notes and then sat there in front of the organ, staring at it silently. He was like a loose cannon, Christine thought. He was able to explode at any moment.

"I wonder if box five is empty," he said softly. Christine lifted her gaze to look at him, finding his eyes on her already. She swallowed hard, digging to find her voice.

"Shall we go see?" she asked. He stood and pulled his jacket on, his fingers hovering over the mask. "Angel?" His hand snatched up the mask and he placed it over his deformed face.

"Let's go," he said with a sense of finality in his voice.

**x.x.x**

Christine and the Phantom silently slipped into box five, which, miraculously, remained empty. Silently, they watched the opera playing out below them. Christine couldn't help but to keep looking over her should to make sure that they were truly alone. Shaking, she took the Phantom's hand in hers, sure that he would be torn away from her at any moment. She felt his eyes on him as she stared at the people below them, but she refused to look at him, pretending to be engrossed in the play.

Eventually, the Phantom began murmuring what all was wrong with the scene below them, criticizing everything from the music to the outfits that the performer's wore. Christine couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as he did this and found herself relaxing.

"You just couldn't resist, could you?" she asked him softly after everyone had left the theatre. He looked at her and she could see the faint, rare smile on his face.

"I couldn't," he admitted. "It's my theatre; I want it to be the best."

"And it is."

"Not yet," he said as he stood. "Come, we should leave before they come to clean up."

Christine stood, not releasing his hand as she did. He led her out of the box and down the stairs, pausing when there were voices heard out in the hallway. It was Meg and Raoul, she could tell, but she couldn't decipher what they were saying. Their voices faded as they walked away, and the Phantom led her out of the theatre quickly.

**x.x.x**

As the Phantom slept on the bed, Christine slipped her feet into her shoes and slipped out the door silently. She made her way across the lake to the opera house, knowing that he was going to be furious with her whenever he found out that she'd slipped away, but she had to speak with Raoul, tell him that everything was alright.

She found him sitting in one of the seats of the audience, staring at the stage. Christine tapped on his shoulder, causing him to jump as he looked at her.

"Christine," he breathed out, standing and pulling her into a hug. She drew back to look at him.

"I can't stay long," she said in a whisper, afraid that there were other people near.

"Why?" Raoul asked with a confused look on his face. "Is it that Phantom? Is he holding you hostage? You can tell me, Christine, you know that, right?" She shook her head.

"No, that's not it at all, Raoul," she replied, stepping back. "I just needed to tell you that I was alright, that you need to not worry or try to find me."

"But Christine—," Raoul started, but she cut him off.

"I mean it, Raoul," she said as she looked at him. "I'm alright, okay?"

"I'm not letting you stay with . . . with that creep."

"That's not exactly your choice, is it?" she demanded. He stared at her before he looked away. "I'll be alright, Raoul. He won't hurt me, trust me." Raoul looked at her with a troubled expression on his face.

"Fine."

**x.x.x**

Christine returned to the Phantom's home and found him pacing across the floor, muttering to himself. He spun around when he heard her walk in, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Where did you go?" he asked. She slipped off her shoes and placed her shawl on the chair near her.

"I needed some air."

"Don't lie to me, I know where you went."

"Then why must you ask?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips. He looked away and she could see him struggling to tolerate her, even though he loved her, he did have trouble trying to keep calm near her.

"What if they come here?" he asked in a soft voice. She walked up behind him cautiously and slipped an arm around his waist and reached up with the other to remove the mask he still wore.

"They won't," she assured him as she pulled the mask off gently. He turned to look at her, a pained expression still on his face. "I promise, Angel, that they won't harm either of us."

"Don't make a promise you cannot keep," he whispered. She reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand.

"I give you my word," she whispered to him before she pressed her lips against his.


End file.
